Shuffle
by deleted777
Summary: A series of unrelated House/Wilson ficlets inspired by song titles randomly generated by my iTunes... NOT song-fics, just used titles as prompts! Rated M for some explicit content. M/M slash, don't like it, don't read it. Reviews welcomed!


Disclaimer: Last night I tried to wish upon a shooting star for ownership of House and Wilson. I saw no stars, only the blinking light of an airplane, so I wished on that instead. Apparently planes don't grant wishes, cause my ownership jar is still empty. Dammit.

A/N: I know, I know, I should be writing for sick!Wilson fest instead of this, but I have just had this horrible itching to continue Shuffle all week and this is the first time I've been able to sit at my computer for more than five minutes… Anyways, this is H/W established fic. I'm not super happy with the way it turned out but oh well. Review if you like!

Today's Prompt: Let it Die

Cold. So Cold. Wet. Rain. Can't see. Leg. Pain. Leg broken? Don't know. Dark. Can't see. So cold…

Lights. Tires. Not again. Oh god, not again. Don't hit me. Not again. Screeching. Car door. Voices. Angry? Hands. Strong hands.

"Oh God, you poor thing… Come on, I'll help you…"

Who's that? Hands pick me up. Carry me. Where? Leg hurts. Leg hurts, hurts, hurts-

Rain stopped. Hands gone. Where now? Moving. Oh god, car. In car. Hate car. Means vet. No vet, no no no no no-

"Hang on little guy, we're going to take care of you."

"Wilson, seriously-"

"Shut up House, we're taking him home. I'm not gonna let it die out here. Hang in there, little one, it's okay, just hang on…"

Nice voice. Still cold. Leg hurts. Everything… going… black…

*************

When I wake up, my first instinct is to run. I have no idea where I am, in this place with strange smells and sounds, and all I want is to leave. I try to stand, but my legs won't cooperate. In fact, one of them won't work at all. Suddenly my body is hit with a wave of pain, and I whimper loudly.

"He's awake, House!" A voice says, and I realize I'm laying across someone's lap. I stiffen instinctively as I feel a hand across my body, but the man holding me just strokes my fur gently. "Hey little guy, you've been sleeping an awful long time. We're taking good care of you. I gave you a quick bath to get all the dirt off of you, and we splinted your leg the best we could."

"For Chrissake, Wilson, it's a dog. He doesn't understand what you're saying," a second voice cuts in. That voice scares me- it's gruff and low, not at all like the gentle voice of the man holding me.

"He can probably understand more than you think, plus, he'll respond to a soothing voice better than silence. He must be terrified, not knowing where he is or who we are." If I had the strength and ability to get up, I'd lick this Wilson man's face right now. All I can do is thump my tail against his hip a few times in gratitude for his kind words.

The other man- House, was it? That's someone's _name?_- makes a small snorting sound, and then the couch shifts. He's sitting next to Wilson, and he reaches one hand over and pets my head carefully. His touch isn't rough, exactly, but it's not as soft as Wilson's. My body stiffens again in response, which causes the pain my leg to flare, and I can't stop another whimper from leaving my throat.

"You'll have to take him to the vet in the morning," House says. I growl softly at the horrible v-word, but no one hears me as House continues. "And then call the animal shelter or whatever."

"I'm not going to take him to the shelter," Wilson says.

"No, you're taking him to the vet, and then they'll take him to the shelter when he's well."

Wilson's hands curl around my body protectively, and I lean into him. "The vet's not going to treat a stray dog, they'll just put him down. He's got no tags, no collar- and that means no one to pay for his broken leg. So when I bring him in the morning, I'll have to say he's my dog. The vet can patch him up better than our homemade splint, give him some pain meds, and we can take care of him."

House groans. "You're getting attached to the thing."

"What can I say, I'm attracted to helpless creatures with leg injuries," Wilson says.

"Ha ha," House deadpans. "I _really_ don't want to relive the whole Hector situation."

"And I _really_ don't care, because I'm _really_ not going to let this poor dog die."

"Wilson, we can't keep it-" House starts, but his voice trails off as I lift my head and meet my eyes to his for the first time. His blue eyes soften as they take in my sorry state. He focuses on my crippled leg, his brows furrowing as he frowns slightly. "We should get him some baby aspirin. That leg's gotta hurt like a bitch."

I_***********_ _One week later ************_

_Cold. Wet. Car. Oh god, not the car, I can't get out of the way! Lights bearing down on me, I can't move-_

"Sherlock- Sherlock, wake up! It's just a dream-"

I'm brought back to reality by a rough hand shaking me. I open my eyes to see House looking at me intently.

"Whass wrong?" Wilson says sleepily, turning over to face us.

"It's fine. Sherlock must have had a bad dream, he was thrashing and whining in his sleep. He's fine now," House says, giving me a quick pet before turning back over and pulling Wilson close to him.

I get up and hobble around a few times on the bed, trying to get comfortable again. Finally I curl up against their feet, snuggling my nose into the blanket.

So this is what it's like to have a family.


End file.
